Nowadays
by Jack E. Peace
Summary: (Chicago) A short story about Roxie and Velma's life after the end of the movie. RR please! (forgive the format, I'm working on it)


Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me, they belong to the people who created Chicago in the first place (way back when). I'm just borrowing them, so don't sue me, I have nothing, no money. it's sad actually.  
  
A/N: I just saw Chicago for the second time so I thought I'd write a short story; I have no clue if anyone will like it, so just review it, even if you hated it. I need the reviews, almost as much as I need money. This fic takes place a few days after the end of the film. Enjoy!  
"Nowadays"  
  
by SparkingDiamond  
  
Roxie Hart frowned at the radio, wrinkling her nose at the static that emitted from the speaker; she had gotten the radio only days earlier at a bargain shop, but they had sworn that it would play just fine. It didn't sound just fine to her. The blonde walked across the room and narrowed her eyes at the radio, trying to decide if she, with her limited mechanical skills, could fix whatever was wrong with it, trying to figure out why it was giving her only static to listen to. Roxie had been in the middle of listening to a semi-interesting radio serial when the static had cut in, drowning out the voices of those on the other side of the speaker. Thinking of mechanical skills made her think of Amos, which made her frown even more; she had never realized how much she would miss her dumb lug of an ex-husband, or miss men in general; after plugging Fred Kasley had turned out the way it had, Roxie had decided -with help from Velma Kelly of course- that men were viler than the plague. Except for their catch of a lawyer. However, maybe having a man around wouldn't be so bad, especially nowadays when everything that could breakdown did. It wasn't the first time that Roxie had asked herself if leaving Amos had been a good idea and had once asked Velma, who assured her it was. "You're better off without him." Velma had purred. But sometimes, Roxie was unsure.  
  
Where was Velma anyway? Maybe her apartment mate would be able to figure out what had caused the radio to spit out nothing but static; gazing at the brown radio with its single mesh speaker reminded Roxie of sitting alone in her cell in Murders' Row, no longer worried about whether she would swing. She was simply worried about how many people who take her picture the following day and who she would look on the front cover. She still worried about that now, though it was a large concern among others; despite the fact that she and Velma had their own headlining act, they weren't as popular in the papers as they used to be, a couple years ago. Roxie hated to think that no one knew her name anymore; she had gotten a taste of fame and she wasn't ready to forget how it made her tingle. The door of the apartment opened and slammed shut and Velma Kelly walked in, tossing her coat -complete with rabbit-fur lining- onto the grimy couch without a second thought. She gazed around the cramped apartment until her gaze rested upon Roxie, who was still fidgeting with the knobs of the face of the radio. She and Roxie had been sharing an apartment for a few days and Velma was slowly getting into the feel of things; it was a lot like sharing an apartment with Veronica and Charlie, without having to worry that they would create their own act of acrobatic tricks. Velma knew she never had to worry about that again and didn't feel regret when she thought back on her solution to the problem; after all, they had it coming, their actions had led to their downfall. Velma wasn't sure how Roxie was enjoying the living conditions but she had yet to complain about them, which was a surprise. Roxie had sworn that she had hated Velma, yet some of that hate seemed to be seeping away. Velma might go so far to call Roxie an acquaintance, though she could be nothing more at the moment. "What'cha doing Hart?" Velma asked, walking into the kitchen and wrinkling her nose at the mess of dishes in the sink. It was Roxie's turn to take care of them, but so far the only thing paying any attention to their dirty dinner dishes were cockroaches. "Tryin' to fix the radio." Came the answer from the "living room". Velma shrugged a gesture blind to Roxie since a very thin wall separated them. The raven-haired flapper gingerly reached into the sink and pulled out a chipped cup that didn't appear as filthy as the others. Velma filled her cup with coffee left over from the morning and rejoined her partner in the living room, where the blonde was tapping the smooth top of the radio with her knuckles. "What's around with it?" Velma asked, plopping down on the couch and taking a sip of her coffee, making a face. Not that the drink had been art in the morning but it had definitely lost whatever tang it had before. Roxie didn't answer for a second but finally let out a sigh, clicking the radio off and turning to face her partner. "It's busted, I think; damn guy down at the shop said it would work just fine." She pouted, her lower lip protruding slightly as she spoke. The woman on the couch couldn't help but grin at the blonde, shaking her head as she regarded the beverage in the cup carefully. "What did you expect?" She asked, smiling. Sometimes, it surprised her that Roxie still had a little bit of faith in the opposite sex. Men were only good for one thing and being reliable wasn't it. Roxie didn't answer but joined Velma on the couch, crossing her arms across her chest. "You act like you know everything." She grumbled, every bit the chicken-farm girl that Billy Flynn had made her out to be. Velma didn't answer, just set her half-full cup down on the floor beside her feet, crossing her legs at the knees; she was tempted to say something to the effect of I do know everything but knew that would simply cause another fight to break out between them. Last time that happened, Roxie had taken off and decided not to show up for their evening show. They had lost a week's pay and nearly their job. Velma was determined not to let that happen again; even if it meant taking a verbal beating from the blonde, or being to take to her, making a living and having somewhere to live was more important than preserving her dignity or forming a friendship. That was the only thing that kept her mouth shut. So they sat in silence on the couch, both consumed by their own thoughts, a million miles away; to a passerby, they would look like complete strangers, simply thrown together by fate. Maybe they were nothing more than strangers, enemies, thrown together by cruel fate and society and the drive to be someone other than who they were. Maybe they would never be anything more than partners who shared an apartment and spoke to each other only when the silence became too much. Or maybe, one day, they would become friends, who had civilized conversations over a minute long and ate dinner together, talking about their day and anything else that struck their fancy. Maybe they would reminisce about Murders' Row, or talk about how they would kill their cheating husbands and scum boyfriends all over again. Maybe they would be able to listen to a radio program and not fight over whose turn it was to pick what the serial of the night would be. Who knew, everything was going to change eventually, some things just changed sooner rather than later. Maybe one day they would be more like sisters than partners with a steel grudge. But Velma wasn't going to push it, everything was fine to her. At least, nowadays. 


End file.
